Mustard Jar
by 247Lyricism
Summary: This oneshot story is a testament to the fact that no love is perfect. The song is Perfect, credited to Smashing Pumpkins. Please review, even if you don't like the story.


They stood, looking at each other across the room, the room that had so many memories. The walls were lined with photographs of their mutual past, happier versions of themselves watching the breakdown ensue.

_I know we're just like old friends  
We just can't pretend  
That lovers make amends_

She stood with her hands clasping a small brown paper bag. She clutched it against her chest, as if to still her beating heart. "I brought by a few of your things that you had left in my apartment," she said quietly. Her large brown eyes could barely meet his own.

He, too, was feeling particularly awkward. He ran a hand across the back of his neck, brushing away the red locks. He tended to do this out of nerves. "What did I leave there?" he asked her curiously.

She gave a little shrug. "I mean, it's nothing much," she told him. She peered into the bag; her hands shook visibly. "There are a few t-shirts here, and a couple of books." She looked up at him and gave a small smile. "I even threw in your jar of mustard."

He gave a light laugh. "You could have kept the mustard."

She shrugged again. "Yeah, well, it's your _favorite _kind of mustard," she said in an almost apologetic way.

_We are reasons so unreal  
We can't help but feel that something has been lost_

She stepped towards him, handed him the brown bag. They reached across the expanse of room, closing the gap that seemed so very wide. He took it, and the corners of his mouth turned up faintly. He went to set the bag on the counter.

He let the contents spill out. Fabric, paper, and glass cascaded across the smooth surface. He began to look through it all, letting his hands wander across the pile. She stood back a bit still, like a child wondering if her brother would like her Christmas present to him. Her expression was wide open.

He lifted up a red t-shirt. "Look at this, 'Mione. It's one of my favorite shirts."

"Ron," she said, and burst into tears.

_But, please, you know you're just like me   
Next time I promise we'll be  
Perfect  
Perfect  
Perfect strangers down the line  
Lovers out of time  
Memories unwind _

Hermione buried her face in her hands and let the sobs wrack her body. She'd been crying all day, all week, but it felt really good to cry in front of him. It felt liberating to express herself to him instead of to the empty white walls in her bedroom. She wasn't afraid to show Ron how she felt about their breakup. She wasn't afraid to look weak in front of him.

Ron put down the shirt. He set aside everything. The space between them closed fast, as his steps brought him very close to her. His arms enclosed her, her trembling shoulders, and he pressed her against his chest, just like how she'd held the paper bag. Ron rocked her back and forth and kissed the top of her head.

_So far, I still know who you are  
But, now I wonder who I was_

He shushed her. "Please, don't cry, 'Mione," Ron said to her. She felt so small to him, huddled against his tallness, a little quivering thing that mimicked his heart. His hands splayed across her back and stroked.

Hermione put an arm around his waist, remembering how much she loved it when he held her. "We should still be together, Ron," she told him a matter-of-fact way.

"We aren't, though," Ron said. He was trying to be strong.

"We could try again," Hermione said. She didn't care if she sounded like she was begging. "I mean, we said a lot of stupid things to each other, things that we didn't really mean. We made a lot of mistakes and blew up a lot of trivial things. I thought it mattered. I thought our differences counted for something. But since you've been gone, I can't stop thinking about you, day or night. I'm still in love with you, and I think that's what matters."

Hermione put her mouth on his. Ron found it hard to focus, hard to disbelieve what she was saying. He kissed her, too. He hadn't kissed her in a week, and he felt like he had a lot to make up for, like maybe her mouth had changed a lot in that time.

_Angel, you know it's not the end  
We'll always be good friends  
The letters have been sent on  
_

They lay there on the couch, butterfly touches alighting on each other's exposed skin. He loved her. He loved her more than anyone in his whole life. He lay next to her and nuzzled into the curve of her neck and shoulder. "We could try again," he said, repeating her.

Neither of them could shake the feeling, though, that they would not remember that particular moment in later months. They would regress into the same monotonous cycle, the same fights, the same anger, the same failure. And maybe it would all happen again. Maybe in five months, she would be returning his mustard jar, and he would go weak in the knees, wanting to be with her again.

_So please, you always were so free  
You'll see, I promise we'll be  
Perfect  
Perfect strangers when we meet  
Strangers on the street  
Lovers while we sleep_

Ron looked at her. "I'll love you forever," he said.

"I know," Hermione said. "I'll love you, too." They looked at each other, and they kissed. His mouth fell on hers, sunk deep in. His mouth was exquisite to her. How soon would she come to forget it? Would she ever be able to come to his apartment, asking for a taste of it, for old times' sake? The scent of Hermione's hair made him dizzy, made his nose stuffy with the sadness that was coming.

They broke apart. They rested their foreheads together, crying into the other's eyes. Tears fell from his freckled face to hers. His thumbs trailed along her cheekbones, following the path that the droplets made. Then he kissed her one last time, slowly, lovingly.

Hermione sat up, adjusted her clothes. She squeezed his hands, wiped her own eyes. She headed for the door. Ron sat up on the couch, watching her go. Hermione looked behind her and paused in the doorframe. He thought she was beautiful, beautiful and not for him. She turned away with her mouth in a thin line, and the door crashed closed behind her.

_Perfect  
You know this has to be  
We always were so free  
We promised that we'd be  
Perfect_


End file.
